


Fifteen

by MrsWhozeewhatsis (OxfordCommaLover)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Louden Swain SPN Writing Challenge, Sam-Centric, Teenage Sam, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:19:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordCommaLover/pseuds/MrsWhozeewhatsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is another submission for my Louden Swain SPN Writing Challenge. (For more info on the challenge and to see other submissions, go to http://mrswhozeewhatsis.tumblr.com/Louden-Swain-SPN-Writing-Challenge.) I wasn't going to write a second fic for this project, but this song and the Sam-ness of it wouldn't leave me alone. The song is Fifteen (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOHIlKBAvwk) off of their album, Sky Alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If you find any, please let me know, as I want all mistakes fixed before presenting the final project to Rob, Billy, Mike, and Stephen at ChiCon.

Sam tied off the top of the garbage bag and dragged it out to the curb, a grimace contorting his features. It was his birthday. Shouldn’t that mean he gets out of taking out the freaking trash? Maybe if Dad had been there, he would have made Dean do it, but Dad was never there. This made the fifth birthday of Sam’s that Dad had promised he wouldn’t miss, but did.

Sam used to fight and cry about things like missed birthdays, holidays, or parent/teacher meetings, but he’d stopped somewhere along the way. It never made a difference. There was always a reason, always an excuse. _“People are dying, Sammy. Do you want me to tell them I can’t help them because you can’t wait a day or two to eat cake?”_ Sam’s anger always deflated at that. Not even a 10-year old could argue with people dying.

Dean tried to make up for it. He always tried to get presents and cake and sing Happy Birthday so off-key that Sam had to cover his ears to protect himself. This year, things were good. Dean was working full-time now that he’d quit school, so there was more money to spend on little extras they never used to have when Dad was gone.  Dean had gone all out and bought a red balloon that said “Happy Birthday” on it, as well as a huge cake with fifteen candles that were all brand-new, not scrounged up, mis-matched, and already half-burned. Of course, he’d followed up such a great presentation by putting Sam in a headlock, giving him the noogie from hell, and calling him “shortstop.” Sam wasn’t quite big enough or strong enough to throw Dean, yet, but he was willing to bet he would be soon. The nurse at school had told him he’d probably be bigger than his brother when all was said and done. He couldn’t wait.

Stomping back into the house Dad had rented, he almost ran right into Dean, who was on his way out the door.

“You gonna be okay on your own for a few hours, Sammy? I’ve got a chance with this really hot chick who brought her car in today. Don’t wait up!” Dean yelled, already halfway into the Impala before Sam even had a chance to respond. He watched the car pull out of the driveway, shoulders slumped.

Some birthday.

Grabbing his backpack, he spread out his books on the kitchen table and started working on his homework. At least he didn’t have to do research for Dad, too. Dad didn’t seem to understand why Sam took his grades so seriously. _“At least what you’re learning in the lore books will actually be useful in real life. When a werewolf is showing you his fangs, he’s not going to stop and ask you when Thomas Edison invented the lightbulb.”_

Neither Dad nor Dean understood why Sam took his schoolwork so seriously. Neither of them saw a life for Sam that included anything other than hunting.

But Sam did.

Ever since Mr. Wyatt back at Truman had told him he didn’t have to do what everyone thought he should do, that he could do what HE wanted to do, he’d been thinking and planning. He still wasn’t 100% sure what he wanted to do, but he knew that whatever he would become would begin with college.

Stanford.

His guidance counselor at his last school had mentioned Stanford, and the idea had stuck. Sam thought he might be interested in the law, and Stanford would be an excellent place for pre-law. Not to mention, Stanford is in California, so no more cold Midwestern winters. And the beach. Sam had never seen the ocean, but it sounded like something he’d like. Stanford held so many attractive possibilities.

His grades would have to be more than perfect, though. There would be no help from Dad for tuition or books or room and board. He would need all the scholarships and financial aid he could get, and for that, he needed the grades. It would be hard enough gathering his transcripts from all the schools he’d attended, so he needed to make sure that those transcripts were worth the fight. Maybe he would never need to know the capital of Lichtenstein when he was on his own, but he’d need the A on the geography test to eventually get the life he wanted.

He would get out. He would go to school, get his degree, and make a life for himself that didn’t include ghosts or werewolves or salt rounds. Maybe he’d even get married and have kids someday. And he’d never miss a single fucking birthday.

Not one.


End file.
